Help Me, Rhonda (Màlaga - Ronda - Seville)

Ah, transit day fun, dear reader. We commenced the morning in the usual fashion with breakfast at Krumble. Except we were a tad early. They don't open until 10am so we wandered the promenade for a while before being the first customers through the door.

We had already packed, I'm sure I've mentioned how packing cells have changed my world. So easy to pack, unpack and repack. Check out went smoothly. The car appeared quickly and, unlike the Porsche of yesterday, was unwashed. Sigh. Then it was on the road to Ronda. Ah, yes, you are ahead of me, dear reader, the link to today's title, Help Me, Rhonda by The Beach Boys.

Ronda is described as a typical Andalusian white town (almost all the buildings are white) up in the hills above Màlaga and was recommended to us by one of the staff on the day we arrived. It was only 90 minutes or so away and provided a nice break from the direct drive to Seville. The drive was all on A class roads, so no tolls and according to Google, separated dual carriageway. Again, Google lies. There were significant stretches of single lane road, but it was well marked and there were no precipitous cliffs. All good.

Ronda, the white town.

We'd had a bottle of wine from Ronda at dinner one evening so I was looking forward to seeing the grape vines. They must have been well hidden because I didn't see one vine on the way in or the way out. The only minor hiccup in the journey was locating the selected car park at the train station. After a couple of false starts we found an underground car park that was close to where we needed to be. 

Outside the Ronda Bullring.

The main shopping street in the old town stretched from the car park to the bull ring almost a kilometre down the hill. It was the usual polished limestone pedestrian thoroughfare, closed to through traffic but open to cross traffic. It was crowded despite the fact that the shops weren't all open yet. We made the bullring and to my dismay there were tour groups everywhere. Large tour groups. I thought we'd safe this far inland, but no. And like Mostar in Montenegro, Ronda has a famous bridge, and a superior one in my opinion.

The gorge from the new bridge.

We visited the tourist information centre to get a town map and walked the short distance to the 'new' bridge where everyone in Ronda had gathered. It wasn't a particularly pleasant experience with the tour groups who, like a tsunami, just keep coming until you step off the bridge out of their way. Fortunately there were not many vehicles about.

The old bridge in the distance.

The 'new' bridge (late 1750s) takes cars, the 'old' bridge, is for foot traffic only. Both span the gorge that cuts Ronda in two. The gorge is around 100 metres deep so, to construct a stone bridge to span it, is some engineering feat. As I said, more impressive than Mostar, but then Hamish and Andy haven't jumped off this one.

We left the bridge and the mindless crowd to find the Palace or Palacio Mondragãn. After a slight detour due to orienteering issues, we found a church, no surprises there, but not the Palace. A pause and review took us back past the Palace entrance, cleverly disguised and double badged as the Museo de Municipal. A more careful reading had us inside in minutes.

They love a painted dome in Spain.

The museum is a potted history of the this part of the world from first habitation until more recent times. There were the usual artefacts and displays. Nothing outstanding. The Palace itself was really the garden. While it was pleasant with great views over the countryside and provided a nice break from the hordes outside, it was also nothing special.

The path to the garden.

From the palace, we returned to the square that provided access to a viewing platform where you could photograph the entire bridge structure from river bed to road surface. Allegedly. Spoiler alert, I never found out. Jayne found a shady spot in the square and I headed down the ramp. About half way to the bottom of the gorge sits the viewing platform, but there is a catch - it's not free. Now it was only€2,50 for access, but I was pissed that that information had been withheld. It should have been a part of the signage in the square. While others in front of me were deliberating, I turned and climbed back to the square, passing many breathless people, all younger than me, on the way back. 

The new bridge, not from the viewing platform.

We walked back to new bridge where the crowds had thinned significantly. There were a couple of photo ops on the way but I tired of waiting for the vapid and vacuous selfie brigade to get out of the shot. Back in the main street, we dodged the remnant tour groups blocking the street and headed for the car park. 

Beyond the tour groups.

Ronda is a beautiful little town - it is certainly all white, and precariously perched along the top of the gorge but to experience it's true allure, you need to stay a couple of nights so you can wander the streets in the mornings and afternoons without the bus groups. The crowd crush did not make this detour an enjoyable experience.

The rest of the drive to Seville was relatively uneventful although the terrain looked very dry and barren with occasional areas of oasis plantations of various fruit trees. No hot houses here like the coastal farming areas. Periodically, small white towns appeared in the distance and then, suddenly we were in the outer fringes of Seville, the capital of Andalusia. 

The navigation to the hotel was straightforward with only a few death defying roundabouts and happily there was a parking reception area in front of the hotel, allowing us to check in and find the carpark proper.

No car elevators, no tight squeezes - in fact, a super large car space and a lift directly up to the hotel lobby. We found our room and walked in - to find there were two single beds and a sofa double bed made up. Wrong room? Back we went to reception who did not understand why the room was configured like this but allocated us a room that was as we had arranged. 

Once we were settled, it was time to work out our dinner plans and using our street map, we headed out to a tapas place literally around the corner - or so it seemed. Up and down the street we went but there was no restaurant entrance in sight. Google was then consulted and confirmed we should have been looking right at the front door of Barrio Cervecería Sevillana. 

Mystified, we started back towards the hotel, resigned to a room service dinner when a glance up one side street revealed the signage we had been looking for. Into an almost deserted restaurant we went, wondering where everybody was, considering it was past 8pm. We were shown to a table and the waiter introduced himself as Alejandro who then said he could only take drink orders at this stage but not food as the kitchen did not open till 8:30pm. Wine chosen, the place slowly started to fill up although there were always vacant tables inside while we were there.

One more of the new bridge.

The menu had a number of tapas options that had no translation so we asked Alejandro for some advice. He obliged with descriptions of the dishes, some of which we had tried elsewhere. We settled on three at his recommendation, since he said it would be good to leave room for dessert. We generally don't eat dessert but figured that we could always order another tapas dish if we were still hungry.

Out came the first dish, patatas bravas, which looked different to other servings of this we have eaten. It was served with chips rather than scalloped potatoes and beneath the chilli foam was a spicy tomato oil. Then arrived a small serving of calamari, followed by a "sandwich" of pork. It was actually pork loin, bacon, cheese and garlic mayonnaise on brioche. So good.

So good in fact we booked for Sunday night. Sunday is Spain's national day, Christopher Columbus Day. Who knows what will be open and there is plenty to explore on the menu.

Until tomorrow.